“Maybe,” Locke says.
“Private investigators?” Mayhem asks.
“Possible.”
“Drivers who follow Zara around?” Jade says.
“Also possible.” Locke spreads his hands, and I can tell how much he hates the uncertainty. “I don’t know how he’s doing it yet. I only know we’ve somehow been giving him more information than we realize.”
Dad looks down at the photographs. “Then we watch.”
Locke nods. “Quietly.”
“No accusations,” I add. “Not without proof.”
Dad’s gaze shifts to mine, and there’s something deliberate in the way he pauses before responding. “What do you think we should do?”
The question catches me off guard. Yesterday, he would have decided, today, he asks.
I look around the table, at the fear and suspicion already threatening to push its way into the spaces where trust has always li
